


The Fall of Mephistopheles

by HerrKirschbaum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Boys In Love, Declarations Of Love, Drama, Edwardian Period, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Goethe - Freeform, Literary References & Allusions, Literature, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Marriage, Muses, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Russia, Russian Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Russian Literature, Russian Revolution, Secret Admirer, Secret Crush, Secret Identity, Theatre, german literature, marlowe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerrKirschbaum/pseuds/HerrKirschbaum
Summary: PETROGRAD – In revolutionary times the well-known dramaturge Levi Ackerman writes plays for the famous Alexandrinski Theater. Though his pieces are popular amongst theater lovers, he keeps his identity a secret, since fame and publicity are both goods he does not consider worth to be achieved. Living a wealthy and comfortable life, everything is turned upside down once the son of English migrants joins the theater's ensemble. Not knowing each other but still connected in a strange way, a cold April night in 1917 changes everything. GIVEAWAY! Participate on Tumblr until February 3rd! :)http://herrkirschbaum.tumblr.com/post/156127634147/good-day-my-dear-readers-to-celebrate-100





	

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Der Sturz des Mephistopheles](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/236602) by HerrKirschbaum. 



> This narration contains referrences to the plays of Marlowe and Goethe. In case you are not familiar with the narration of Faustus and Mephistopheles, I would highly reccomend to have a short look into the corresponding Wikipedia articles, just to make sure you can enjoy this to the fullest. ♥
> 
> This story is dedicated to Mephistoplz @ Instagram. He's an awesome Erwin cosplayer and Faustus lover (just like me), who pretty much inspired me to write this oneshot. In case you don't know him, check his profile for some fabulous Erwin pics. Erwin, Sir, let's have a cup of tea one day.

 

 

~*~

 

It is a night of sociality and still I am all alone.

  
Motionless I am standing at the top of the stairs that lead to the highest floor of the Alexandrinski theater in Petrograd. My hands, which show a plain, silver ring on their left side, are resting on the wrought-iron railings, over which I bended in order to sneak a peak at the people below me. It is a saturday evening in April 1917. Like all the others I am wearing evening garments. A midnight blue smoking made from wool combined with pants of the same colour. Underneath a snow white dress shirt with stand-up collar, a white tie and a waistcoat of creme silk. A tiny bouqet sticks in the lapel of my tailcoat. Usually I try to avoid this kind of clothing, since I am a man of short stature, and the coat's swallowtail shortens my appearence even more.

  
I wear patent-leather shoes, which I have polished so thoroughly that the light of the countless lamps is reflected in them. I did it myself and did not leave it to my employees, due to the mere fact that if you want something to be done properly, you better do it yourself.  
Even though I slicked my hair back with the help of comb and pomade, strands of thick, black hair keep shifting into my face. I leave them like this. It is not like anybody but my closest friends would know me here. If you ask me why, I would tell you the following about myself: I prefer it to remain unknown, since the sole mentioning of my name would cause sheer excitement - especially on a night such as this. And if there is one thing I definitely cannot stand, it is unnecessary excitement. It is better for me and my mood to stay in the background.

  
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Around me there is the laughter of people, the silent whisper of merry voices, the muffled sounds of the orchestra on the ground floor. The performance is already over, yet most still remain for a while in the extentious halls. They stroll around, talk to friends and acquaintances, to see and be seen. They appear happy and relaxed and even though my face does not show any emotion, I am silently relieved that those around me lived through a nice evening. In the end I am the reason for their presence within these walls. And it is their grace that ensures my living. You ask me who I am? My name is Levi Ackerman and I work as a writer. The drama that has been shown tonight was written and provided by me. It was not only a simple performance, to be more precise, no. It was the premiere. Premieres are always something special. They leave a first impression on the audience that can hardly be corrected afterwards. Whether a play will be a success or failure - something like this is usually decided on such a night. Therefore it might not be much of a surprise that I am filled with a gentle excitement, even though I do my best not to let any of this show on the outside.

  
I open my eyes and straighten up. Doing so I turn slightly away from the railing and look down the floor that can be seen on my right side. Right here, far away from the others, there is nobody else but me. I sigh. When she left me here she had promised me to hurry, though the unpleasent truth is, that she is letting me wait here for more than ten minutes now. I raise my eyebrows and bite my bottom lip to express my growing displeasure.

  
"Hange, you damn woman", I mutter while I lean against the railing and fold my arms in front of my chest. Her disappearance is the climax of an evening ruined by the bitter taste of mere duty performance. I should leave her here and go, but nobody to whom I could flee, would make a better company than she, and I am fully aware of that. And so I stay, while I secretly count the minutes before I am finally allowed to enter the carriage that will bring me back home. Not as if there would be a better life waiting for me. No.  
Do not think I dislike visiting the theater, since rather the opposite is the case - but I am no good when it comes to dealing with people. It is a huge difference whether I write about them or have to face them in the real world. A big, hard to describe difference.

  
What brought me here on this evening that is actually dedicated to me, the author of tonight's play? Well, to illustrate this in an appropriate manner it might be better to return to the beginning of this evening. Not that anything of this is your business, yet you know just as well as I do, that I have nothing better to do right now. It will help me to pass the time until my dreadful friend will return to me. So do me a favour and be quiet while I tell you my story and the words unfold their true meaning.  
  
~*~  
  
As the carriage stops in front of the Alexandrinski theater and enables me to step outside, I take care not to ruin my shoes on the uneven paved ground. One last time I check the fit of my clothes, inquire if I have really brought tonight's billets with me and turn around. From the pitchblack interior of the vehicle cabin a filigree, handshoe covered hand of a young women points in my direction, which I take in the most routined manner. I help my companion to leave the carriage, carefully taking care of her, to make sure she will stand by my side unharmed and well. Her slender body is hidden by a black fur coat from Paul Poiret, the opulent collar covering her neck like a scarf. A wickedly expensive, extravagant piece of clothing. Underneath she is wearing a golden silk evening dress, which shows only from time to time in a rather shy manner, since it is covered by an outer dress made of black silk-matt, embroidered with cut crystals that merrily sparkle in the light of the surrounding lantern. I carefully eye her face and once I am sure that she stands safe I let her go.

  
"What was the name of tonight's piece again?", she asks without looking at me. I readjust the fit of my topper before I offer her my right arm and she agrees. Together we stroll towards the entrance door of the theater. We are good in time. It might be still about one hour until the play starts.

  
"The Fall of Mephistopheles", I reply casually. She nods but I can easily see that she is not interested. I look at her for a while, until she finally raises her head and replies my gaze, but does not give me an answer. I look down on her, eye her arms and finally her fingers. They rest on me in a very volatile manner, taking care not to touch me more than necessary. She wears the same ring as I do on the left of her gloved hands, right now invisible for the outer world, decorated with a small, but wonderful diamond.

  
The name of this young lady is Mikasa Ackerman. She is my wife. It cannot be said that we are in love with each other, no. It is a marriage that has been set up, just like many others, for pragmatic reasons but not for sympathy, back then in spring 1911. We manage it to live our lives without interacting much and as long as we offer each other the personal space both of us need it works out - somehow. I know that she is having an affair with a young Russian military officer, but as long as she behaves discrete I do not care at all. We treat each other with the coldness of polished crystal glass, only connected by the mere fact that neither of us has ever been in love with the other. Furthermore chained together by our three year old daughter with hair black as ebony and skin white as snow. We named her after my early deseased mother, Kuchel. My marriage might be joyless, yet I will not deny that this little girl compensates me in an amount that enables me to oversee the negative things. She means everything to me. She is the light of my life.

  
Arm in arm, Mikasa and I pass the spacious place in front of the theater, still heading toward the entrance doors. My eyes are resting on the marvellous, yellow painted neoclassical building. I loved it since forever, all the details, the pillars, the stucco, the bronze horse figures on the top of the roof. It staggered me when my path led me here for the first time and even now, after all these years, I still can look at it for hours. It is a privilege that my stage plays are shown here. It is a circumstance that marks the climax of my career so far. To be honest, she could have married worse than me.

  
The places is dominated by lively ambience. Wherever I look I see people wearing their most beautiful clothes heading to the theater, great anticipation written all over their faces. We pass an advertising pillar on which attached posters announce tonight's premiere, leave the masses behind us and enter the theater through a light brown wooden door. We cross the extentious room, while walls and ceilings are decorated with stucco and paintings, and eventually stop in the middle of the room.

  
"We would profit more from this evening if people knew you were the author of this piece", Mikasa mutters most discontented and not without judgement. She does not look at me while she is speaking. Her eyes searchingly wander over the countless people who while away the time until the beginning of the play by strolling up and down. Here and there small groups of acquaintances and close friends stand together, chatting, talking. Like a soft veil their laughter covers the omnipresent joyful anticipation that fills the air.  
"No", I answer in a short tempered manner. We have discussed this topic more than once already. "You would profit more from this evening - at least you believe that. People would follow me around and ask me all sorts of stupid questions." I click my tongue. The thought alone is more than enough for me. "It's something I can definitely do without."

I give her a volatile look from the corners of my eyes and press my lips together. Even though I can understand her displeasure over the missing appreciation that she, as my wife, deserves just as much as I do - but in the end the decision about this matter remains in my hands. She knows that too well, and I assume it is exactly that feeling of powerlessness that troubles her the most.

  
"I don't understand why you reject the fame you deserve", she continues, but I only listen to her half-heartedly. I slip my hands inside the pockets of my pants and look around.  
"Because I treasure my peace, Mikasa", I answer most irritatedly. "That's why."

  
"I know that", she replies and when she looks at me again her furious eyes sparkle in the dim light. "We have discussed this matter so often, Levi. I know your reasons, even though they are highly incomprehensible to me."

  
Just like you are to me, I cannot help myself from thinking.

  
"It is more than enough as long as I understand my reasons", is all I answer. With those words this conversation is over for me. As reaction her faces darkens. Her fingers that are clenched around the black lace fan, tighten their grip. She turns away from me when suddenly something seems to catch her attention. I follow her gaze and understand right away. Not far from us, accompanied by his friends and comrades, stands a young, Russian military officer. Strands of brown hair keep shifting into his face. Green eyes rebelliously sparkle in the warm, electronic light. He could be my son - provided that I started that kind of thing in younger years - and therefor relates to Mikasa in a way I never could. With twentyeight years I took her as my wife, she was barely sixteen back then.

  
Her fan touches my forearm and draws my attention back to her. Her steelblue eyes are resting on me, half asking, half provoking.

  
"Would you excuse me?", she asks and causes me to nod.

  
"There you go", I answer. What I gain in return is a volatile smile. A smile, that does not belong to me, even though it slightly moves me. "But be back before the play begins."  
"Certainly", she says silently, turns away from me and disappears only seconds later between the surrounding people. Motionless I observe the soldier, on whose face honest happiness can be seen, once Mikasa has reached him. It is a kind of appreciation I cannot offer her and she cannot offer me. He touches her forearm in a tender, almost careful way that I cannot understand. Her face though does not show any sign of the emotions and thoughts she is carrying inside; when it comes to discretion she has not given me any reason to worry.

  
All of a sudden something heavy touches my shoulder and makes me jerk. I whirl around - and stop in an instant once I recognize who has just adressed me. In front of me, the left hand raised in a way that makes me think she has placed it on my shoulder only seconds ago, stands Hange Zoe. Hange Zoe, my friend from childhood days. A pair of excitingly sparkling eyes watch me carefully. She is wearing a white, translucent dress made of muslin. Her auburn hair, pinned up and curled, are only decorated by one simple hairpin. She is hardly wearing any jewelry. In her right hand I can see the usual, linen covered notebook she is never leaving the house without, a sharpened wooden pencil attached to the cover. She is truly a remarkable wench, and of course, not married. When the Russian universities opened their doors for women a little more than ten years ago, she enrolled right away. She studied politics and literature and graduaded as the best of her year representatives - to the displeasure of her mainly male colleagues. She has been writing for Petrograd's newspapers ever since then. Due to the war in central Europe she left Russia and used to live close to the eastern front for a couple of years. Six months ago she finally returned. When our gazes meet, a bright smile appears on her lips.

  
"Ljowuschka!", she calls out my time honoured pet name. "Oh how nice it is to see you here. I love this theater. All these people. The stories. The tragic. The comedy! And of course I am dying to see The Crash of Mephistopheles."

  
"It's The Fall of Mephistopheles", I reply quite matte. She bends down and starts patting my shoulders, which I let happen without showing any signs of emotion. Once she has started to speak nothing can stop her. She is a roaring water fall. A stormy wind. If there is one person in Russia that incorporates the forces of nature, it is this woman.  
"Are you here for the press tonight?", I ask and point at her notebook. She nods.

  
"Yes, they asked me to write a detailed review", she laughs and raises her hand to underline her words with heavy waving. "Even though I don't think I will have something to critizise on. You know how much I love your plays."

  
A rebellious sparkling enlightens her eyes. When she continues speaking, her voice has taken a conspirational tone. "You always manage it to make them political, even though you do it in such a discrete manner one has to look very closely to notice. We all know that it might be better to keep our eyes and ears open after what happened in February."  
We nod at each other and remain silent. After that she carefully looks at me, obviously satisfied over the fact that she has finally found me, when suddenly she furrows her brows.

  
"Say, Ljowuschka", she says and tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. "Has your wife ditched you again?"

  
I snort in an amused manner and give her a look that speaks for itself.

  
"You returned to Russia six months ago, Hange, and still ask me these kind of questions. Did you expect anything different tonight?"

  
"Well", she begins, but suddenly interrupts herself. For a moment she struggles to find the right words, then finally shakes her head. "No", she admits, "actually not."

  
"There you are", I reply.

  
"Aren't you scared this could cause a scandal one day?" Honest sorrow shows on her face. "It is a well known secret that she is the lover of Officer Jaeger. What if someone who is jealous of you comes to know about this?"

  
"I don't care." I shake my head and shrug. "And I know that she is taking care of herself. A scandal would harm her even more than it does me, so she has no interest in something like this. Apart from that-" I click my tongue. "I am glad over every minute I don't have to spend in her presence, since we have absolutely nothing to talk about."

  
"You poor, old man." Hange laughs and links her arms with mine. "Your marriage is so bitter that I keep wondering why you don't consider a divorce. When you stay together like this you destroy each other's chance for real happiness on purpose."

  
"A divorce is not an option", I reply short temperedly. "Not if children are involved. Kuchel would hardly be able to interact with her mother anymore. I work the whole day and she needs her loved ones."

  
"Well, you're old enough", is all that Hange replies. Then the same awkward smile returns on her lips. With a jerk she pulls me closer. "Come, Ljowuschka", she calls out. "Come. Let's go and meet the others."

 

  
She drags me through the hall, before we eventually stop in front of a group of people that we know quite well and who, in return, know how to keep a secret. There is Mike Zacharias, a calm, severe contemporary with his beautiful, remarkably intelligent wife Nanaba. Between them, much shorter of size, a petite, pretty lady, Petra Ral. Her husband died early and left her a splendid sum. I consider all of them close and dear. None of them would reveal my true identity to others. When they lay eyes on me, they smile in honest pleasure. We greet each other, involving us in the always same conversations of such evenings. If I was excited considering the potential success or failure of the play - I deny. If I have had the chance to witness the rehearsals - I deny once more. If I knew by now, that once more Erwin Smith had been casted to perform the leading role. Well, I say and cannot avoid that my voice sounds a little crackier than usual, I in fact had heard about that.

  
"The rise of this young man sure is impressive", Hange bursts out, who is already taking notes. With a slight scratching her pencil slides over the paper. In a most boisterous manner, she proceeds. "And only in such short time. Ah, I would sell my soul just to make sure I could ask him some questions about that." She turns around and looks at me. "Ljowuschka, my dear, my precious, the closest amongst all my friends, couldn't you, as author-"

  
"No, I cannot", I interrupt her speach and turn away. The simple thought of a conversation with this particular star on Pedrograd's sky makes my stomach turn into a knot.

  
"Well, I don't think he is that young anymore, Hange", Mike joins the conersation, patronizingly raising his brows. "He should be about my age, I suppose. Don't you agree?" He, in the end of his thirties, proudly thumps his chest with his fist, while letting his gaze wander over the those present in silent amusement.

  
"Probably", I agree in a dry manner. I would rather turn to another topic, but I might be alone with that urge.

  
"Maybe you should ask him yourself, darling." Nanaba gently touches the forearm of her husband, before she points at a person not far away from our group. "That's him, isn't he?"

  
I follow her gesture with my eyes and freeze. Not ten metres away from us, absorbed in a passionate conversation, I can see a tall, quite slender man. Blonde short hair is shining slicked back in the warm light of the surrounding lamps. His face is of characteristic features, but timeless beauty, the white skin already hidden underneath a thick layer of theater make up. He probably has a few free minutes left before he needs to disappear backstage, since his first appearence is only in scene eight - apart from the actors and theater employees I might be the only person in this room who knows about that. While he speaks, from time to time a thin smile appears on his lips. Waterblue eyes are sparkling lively in the twilight. He is wearing a black, plain suit, but he will get rid of it later to put on his costume for this evening. Tonight he will descend into the deepest hell and return as the devil himself. My devil.

  
From the moment I lay my eyes on him my heart seems to stop beating for an instant. Without noticing my breath stops and an excitement that makes my hands cold and sweaty fills my chest. Unmoved on the outside I keep my countenance. I have seen him strolling around the theater lobby from time to time, but I had not expected him so early. Unable to let go I stare at him, until he finally raises his head and looks in our direction. For a sheer endless moment our gazes meet, causing the other to smile gently at me, just as an unexpected rush of nervousness forces me to turn back toward my fellow companions. My heart beats heavily in my chest. I feel hot.

  
"It's really him", I can hear Petra saying next to me, "will you go and ask him, Mike?"

  
"Certainly not", the huge man replies and starts to laugh. "Actors are very busy people. He sure is already up to something since the play is about to start any minute. Let's leave him alone."

  
"Yes", I agree with Mike in a determined manner and unconciously reach for my tie in order to adjust it. A gesture of sheer excitement and still by now I have not been able to get rid of it. "Let's leave him alone."

"Do you know him?", Mike asks me.

  
"No. Should I?"

  
"Well, he's playing the lead of your piece, Levi."

  
"Still, though, there is nothing worse than being interrupted while working. I don't want to offend him."

  
I can hear Hange laughing next to me. Patronizingly she taps my shoulder, so hard that I risk breaking underneath her hands like a matchstick.

"You speak from experience, am I right?", she giggles and laughs even louder when I raise my hand to make her stop.

"With having you amongst my friends, certainly", I mutter and give her a meaningful look which she replies in friendly mockery. She opens her mouth to reply something, but the sound of a ringing bell hushs her in an instant. Immediately her eyes widen in joyful anticipation. She steps closer, shifting up her glasses that were resting on her big nose with her index finger.

"It's getting serious", she moans and suddenly my mouth feels all dry. "The play is about to begin. I am so excited!"

Normally I do not give much about such evening societies, but during the last few minutes before a new work of mine will be performed for the first time, the thin veil of excitement covers me as well, even though it might be only for a few minutes.

I signal her with a short nod that I heard what she said and look over to my friends, who, still holding the brochures with tonight's program, are now heading toward the stairwell that leads to our usual loge. Split seconds later Mikasa appears next to me. By now she has opened her fan and moves it up and down with short, precise movements. I do not miss that her cheeks are shimmering in a reddish tone. She appears hot and excited, and I know nothing of this relates to the play or my person in any possible way. How nice for her.

"This officer still seems to make you good company", I remark not without sarcasm and notice motionlessly, that her lips form a thin line due to my words. She folds her fan. Her fingers clench a little too tight around the black grip.

"Of course he does", she replies coldly. "Otherwise I would hardly have spent the past few minutes with him. Apart from that, though-" She greets the surrounding persons with a short nod and only gets restrained reactions in return, "the play is just about to start. I just hope it won't be so terribly political like the previous one." She sighs. "I mean, who actually wants to see something like this in these dreadful, uncertain times?" With these words she turns around and leads the way. One last time Hange pats my shoulders to show some compassion, before I leave her behind and follow my wife. One last time I watch out for the blonde devil. He is nowhere to be seen. He might have already withdrawn himself backstage. At least that is what I assume.  
  
~*~  
  
We have been spoiling ourself by renting a loge for a few years in a row now, located on the second floor, right next to the stage, decorated with bordeaux red curtains and golden stucco. This place offers an excellent view and annually costs me quite a nice sum, but since we share the loge with my fellow friends, the price cannot be considered too high. Mikasa and I have already sit down when the remaining persons join us. Hange sinks, I have not expected it to be any different, on the chair right next to me and opens her notebook with a face filled with expectations. Progressively the voices in the hall die away, until not a single sound can be heard. Then, just in time, at seven thirty, the light is dimmed and the orchestra starts to play the opening tune that has only been composed for this purpose.

  
I take a deep breath and lean back. Feeling stiff and tense I look at the still closed curtains, before I eventually bend forward and let my gaze wander over the audience. I have seen many of them before. Some of them are actually very important persons of our town. Silently I raise my brows and let my tongue slid over my lips. I then straighten up and wait for the beginning of the first scene. It is of no use to be excited. It does not change a thing. It will all work out in the end. Hopefully.

Tonight's play is named The Fall of Mephistopheles - and that is not an accident. I felt free to rewrite the story of Faustus and add a little bit of my own. The plays of Marlowe and Goethe have been dear to me from my early years; the narration around Faustus' pact with Mephistopheles is something that has impressed and influenced me in an most indistinguishable manner. It was only a matter of time and trigger that would lead to the fact that I took care of this material. And now, since I have accomplished my set goals, I cannot refrain from smiling despite myself. The plot is easily summarized. It is a traditional narration and still offers some new elements - just like every good story needs to be.

  
At the end of the nineteenth century Faustus considers himself a member of the Parisian bohéme. As a rising young man of letters he lives a life between constant lack of money and merry evenings in demimondaine societies. He is an idealistic youngster, characterised by his greed to understand the true nature of humans by writing, sensitive, yet full of determination. But the financial success will not come to Faustus and when a false friend steals one of his manuscripts and publishes it successully, Faustus, broke and without income, considers himself on the edge. By chance he manages it to lay hands on a book about dark magic, which he uses to summon the evil itself. The devil appears and offers Faustus the life he is longing for, when he, in return, promises his soul. Faustus agrees, but only under one condition: The devil named Mephistopheles would only be able to take his soul if he would not develope any sympathies for Faustus within the upcoming years. Mephistopheles, who is out and out a gambler, does not hesitate long and bets with Faustus. Of course - tragedies always work like this - he is destined to fail. In the end, Mephistopheles tries to rescind from their pact and turns against his own authorities. The result is his fall and the death of Faustus, who, nevertheless, has to live through eternity in hell. It is a play where nobody wins.  
From the corners of my eyes I look over to my wife, who stares at the stage with a blank face. She will hate the piece. I know it.

  
The music fades, the curtains open and the play begins. I insisted on casting a woman for the role of Faustus - breeches roles have had a characteristic charme ever since and will always have them - and I am quite satisfied with the choice of the theatre's general director. She acts not too bad. With every of her movements her short black hair shimmers in the spotlight's light. Silently I listen to Faustus' monologues, his contemplations over the true human nature, his sorrows and needs. I know every word by heart yet I barely notice what he says. Deep inside, and I am fully aware of that, I am only waiting for one certain moment: The summoning of Mephistopheles. And finally, when Faustus quotes the incantation and the devil enters the stage, it leaves me breathless. Straight, his head up high, dressed in a dark red French military uniform from the napoleonic wars - he approaches Faustus and makes him an offer from which I know he will not refuse. Silently I witness every of his movements and when Mephistopheles in the end kneels down in front of Faustus in order to convince him about himself, my heart stops beating for an instant. My fingers, which I have placed on my chairs arm rest, grab, unnoticed by myself, the padding tighter and tighter. Never before I have seen an actor who presents himself on the stage with such beauty and grace. Never.

  
I discovered him in spring 1915. He had just joined the ensemble, a young, meaningless actor from Moskow, the son of English migrants who was hoping to gain fame and honour in Petrograd. Of course he only played tiny, absolutely irrelevant extra roles in the beginning, yet I can still remember the moment when I first laid eyes on him. It happend during a new staging of Tschechow's Cherry Orchard. I had no words for what was happening but something about him caught my fascination. His way of speaking. His aura. His charisma. And the longer I watched him like this, right next to my wife, who could not guess what I was feeling in these moments, the more it filled me with pleasure to watch this man. Until this night I visited the theater only in an irregular manner, but this changed quite fast afterwards. What remained invisible for the others was omnipresent for me. This man was born for the spotlight. I wanted to see him in the first row, as often and as soon as possible. And so I soon started to take him into account when I wrote my plays. And whenever since this meaningful night in the early spring of 1915 one of my pieces formed a point in this theater's repertoire, one could be certain that there existed a role that could only be represented by a certain person. Not knowing of my every evening visits in the theater I wrote the leads especially for him - and with success. It did not take long and he had worked his way up from the unknown extra to one of Petrograd's most well known actors. It was something we both gained profit from. He earned the fame he deserved and I got the privilege to watch him as incarnation of my very own wishes and dreams.

  
Still, though, we have never talked to each other after all; I was always taking care scrupulously to avoid exactly this. When it comes to the real life, I am not a man of many words. I am more confident with pen, paper, and: silence. From face to face I would have barely been able to give him the appreciation he deserved. I tend to act too rough with people and not just once they took it so badly that the contact came to nothing. I do not know what I would do if something like this happened with Erwin Smith. No.  
Therefore I preferred it to remain in the background and silently admire him from afar, like a photograph that fades if someone touches it too often. That he does not know who I am, that he has never seen my face, is my trump card. Only like this it is possible to let Faustus look so much like me without others becoming suspicious. Deep inside my heart I am longing to form Mephistopheles' counterpart. I am longing to conclude a pact with him. Only once I want to touch this body with my very own hands and then go to hell.

  
How, I ask, can somebody not fall for such a flawless human being? His beauty makes him perfect for Mephistopheles' role, the devoted gambler, the incurable seducer - for the devil himself.

  
I like the way they staged the play. An whenever I let my gaze wander around it is obvious that I am not the only person who is satisfied. Spellbound the masses stare at the stage. And apart from the actor's neatly modulated voices it is absolutely silent in this hall, interrupted only from time to time by amused sounds of Hange, who writes down something in her notebook with a broad smile. It seems as if I did well. Also the actors, the set designers, the tailors and make-up artists. I am truly glad. One look over to Mikasa and I know she is not. I am not surprised.

  
Mephistopheles can easily be read as representative of the Russian nobility. His failure mirrors the failure of the monarchy. Same goes for Faustus, whose striving for freedom, equality and perfection lead him to hell. He is a revolutionist in every possible way, yet we have enough revolutionist on our own within Russia right now. The Fall of Mephistopheles is an explosive piece. Political. Blunt. Scandalous. It is the best I have written in all these years. It's my masterpiece.

"Ljowuschka." The voice sounds like from a far away distance. "Ljowuschka! For God's sake, don't tell me you fell asleep over your own premiere!"  
Somebody grabs my shoulders and shakes me. I whirl around and look right into Hange's face.

  
"I am awake", I hiss, being brought back to reality in a most uncomfortable manner and hesitate, when I suddenly notice the rapturous applause that fills the air. The piece is over. The curtains close. Lost in thoughts, caught by Mephistopheles' overwhelming stage presence I must have stared motionlessly on the closing curtains. Hange eyes me for a while, then furrows her brows.

"Is everything alright, my dear?", she asks and snaps the book shut, before she joins the applause as well. "Didn't you like it?"

"No, it's not like that", I reply and follow her example, just in the moment when the cast enters the stage once more. The applause rises. People stand up. Flowers are being thrown. A thin smile shows on my face while watching all of this. "I think I liked it", I mutter and look at my friend from the corners of my eyes. "Are you happy now?"  
She bursts out laughing and now rises as well. "Yes!", she shouts at me with a broad smile. "Yes, I am, my dear!"

The others get up and are about to leave the loge. One last time I look to the stage, then follow them, turn to Mikasa, but before I can adress her she has passed me and left the room. From the tip of her nose I could see what she was secretly thinking about this play and deep inside she might be relieved over the fact that not anyone here knows her as the wife of the responsible author. My facial expression must speak for itself, since before I can step in the floor with a shake of my head, Hange joins up.  
"What was that supposed to mean?", she smirks and I raise my hand to hush her.

"She's pouting because the play was too political for her taste", I say and decline. "Wouldn't be the first time. Right now she might be rushing to Officer Jaeger in order to vent her anger." I start laughing, but it only sounds bitter and dry. "As usual."

The clicking of Hange's tongue forms her reaction while she is looking in the direction in which Mikasa has just disappeared. I can see unhidden disapproval over my wife's behaviour, but I only shrug.

"That you let her treat you like this, Levi", Hange begins but one look of me is enough to make her fall silent.

"It's still better than having to look at her grumpy face for the rest of the night", I reply tonelessly and without looking at her, "it's something I have to do at home all the time, so give me some rest, Hange."

I sigh and fold my arms in front of my chest. My tiresome spouse is nothing I am in the mood to talk about now. One last time I shake my head and nod towards the door that leads back to the staircase.

"Let's go", I say and suggest a smile. "I want to watch the people a little more before I return back home."

Together we progress through endless hallways, passing countless theatergoers who, obviously still moved by what they just had seen, are still talking over tonight's premiere. My impression was not wrong. The mood is quite positive; even Hange, who, by now, once more has linked her arm with mine against my will, wears a smile that broadens with every step we make.

"Tonight apparently marks a success for you, my dearest Ljowuschka", she smirks with a tender voice and pulls me a little closer. I nod. Without waiting for my part she goes on. "Even though there was one thing I didn't quite understand."

Furrowing my brows I eye her with a severe gaze and fall silent for a few seconds, before I can bring myself to an answer.

"And that would be?", I ask.

"Well..." She bites her bottom lip and looks up to the ceiling. We by now have reached the staircase and enter, after we went down, the spacious foyer. "I do not understand why the light had to be turned off when Mephistopheles and Faustus sealed their pact. Is not the seal itself the most important thing of such an agreement? Why did you decide to hide it?"

We stop at the bottom of the staircase and exchange a long look.

"It is actually quite trivial", I answer and slide my hands into my pants' pockets, before I turn around to her. "But maybe it would be better you write it down if you want to use it for your article."

She nods heavily and raises her hands, before her face freezes to a perplex mask. With huge eyes she looks at the plams of her hands and turns pale.

"Good grief!", she whispers breathlessly and starts to tear her hair. "My notebook! I must have forgotten it somewhere. All my memos and sketches - I need them for this article! If the book's gone I shall be in some serious trouble, Ljowuschka, that's for sure. Oh, what should I do..."

I reach for her wrists and force her to stop. The surrounding people stare at us with shocked faces. The edges of her glasses, over which Hange is looking at me, shimmer in the warm light of the surrounding lightbulbs.

"Pull yourself together", I hiss and let her go, once I can be certain that she has calmed down. Biting her lip she does not talk for a few moments, while her eyes nervously wander back and forth over the wodden floor. Slowly her hands clenches into fists and she furrows her brows. I fold my arms in front of my chest and wait, secretly wishing she might hurry up. When she finally snaps her fingers with a sound of relief, it happens so suddenly that I twitch next to her.

"That's it!", she cries out and grabs my shoulders so forcefully that I can feel all of her fingers pressing through the fabric of my tailcoat. I try to get rid of her, but she has the strength of a bear. "I placed it on the loge's railings when I put away my fan. I might have left it there."

With a silent moan I roll my eyes.

"Are you serious?", I whisper and Hange finally lets me go, before she shrugs in an apologising manner.

"Well, I hope it will be there", she starts and with every syllabe her voice loses its strength. "Otherwise I really have to come up with something."

"Excellent, Hange", I say and pull a wry face, "well done." I have a look around, but nobody I know is with us and therefore I decide to join Hange for her quest to regain her notebook. "So we're going back to the loge?", I say and she nods.

"Yes", she says and steps back on the stairs, "back to the loge."

  
To my relief we do not meet anyone we know on our way back, are not getting involved in unneccessary, superficial conversations and arrive at the top of the staircase that leads to our loge after a few minutes only. This is not a matter of course on such evenings. Believe me, when you once have endured a night in the company of someone who has a wide spreading social network you will make up new expectations of how long it can take to get from one place to another, even if the building is only medium sized.  
"I'll just go and get the notebook." Hange raises her index finger. "You'll be a good boy and wait here for me, right? Don't run away."

"Depends on how long you intend to take for this."

She laughs.

"Five minutes", she says and turns around, "at most."  
With these words she rushes down the hallway and has soon disappeared behind the next corner. I keep staring after her for a while, then, in the end, fold my arms in front of my chest and wait.

That's how I ended up here.

Of course it does not take her only five minutes at most. And when she has not returned after ten I am about to follow her - but in the end refrain from doing so, since the chance that we miss each other appears higher to me than actually finding her. Instead I place my hands on the broad railing and bend over it, let my gaze wander around and carefully watch all these people that keep strolling through the building. The nervousness that has filled me during the whole evening - it finally has disappeared. What remains is infinite, merry light-heartedness. I turn a little away from the railling and look down the hallway. Hange is still nowhere to be seen.

"Excuse me, Sir."

One has to address me twice before something in me realises that I am the one somebody is talking to. It is the voice of a man I cannot identify right away. I turn and look around, then freeze. Only one or two metres away from me, a friendly, but slightly reserved smile on his lips, stands nobody but Erwin Smith himself. He is still wearing the garments of Mephistopheles and the golden pipings sparkle in the dim twilight. In his left hand he holds a light blue book. For a second my heart stops beating. Unmoved, with slightly opened lips, I stare at him, before I can finally force myself to answer him after a sheer endless amount of time.

"Yes?", I say under breath, my voice is nothing but a whisper. The man's smile brightens until it has reached an expression that would let him appear creepy to everyone else, but not to me. He steps closer. I move back until my hips touch the railing.

"Are you Levi Ackerman?", the other asks and I can clearly hear the hope in his voice. "The author?"  
I raise my brows, then once more look down the hallway. Has Hange revealed my true identity in order to get her damn interview? Inwardly I decide to take her to task as soon as we meet again.

"Whatever gives you that idea?", I ask coldly.

"Well", the blonde begins and approaches even further. Doing so, he opens the book and I realise it is an edition of tonight's play. My play. It is already worn out and well-thumbed. Here and there some words have been underlined with pencil and I can see memos and thoughts written next to the text. He leaves through the pages before he shows it to me. One look is enough to make me gasp. I turn pale. With widened eyes I stare at the pages.

"There is a picture of you printed in the edition they handed out to us", Erwin says happily and I need to bite my tongue in order not to swear like a trooper. How was that even possible?! There was nothing like this in my voucher copy.

"I did not know about that", I growl between clenched teeth and honest surprise shows on Erwin's face.

"You did not know?", he asks and now furrows his brows himself. "The esemble was very excited to finally find out about your true identity. After all these years..."

"No, it didn't", I reply irritatedly and take the book away from him. Carefully I pattern the copperplate portrait of me - which, if you'd ask me, had no resemblance to my person at all - before I hand the book back to him. "I had actually enjoined them from printing this." I click my tongue. "But it seems like those responsible screwed it up."  
I think of my wife and her never resting greed for more attention and fame. A short letter from her would have been enough to cause this mess. I sigh and let my fingers run through my hair.

"Well, there goes my anonymity", I sigh and silently decide to take her to task as well as soon as I am done with Hange.

"With your anonymity?"

Erwin suggests a smile, causing me a short nod.

"Not everybody feels as comfortable in the spotlight as you actors."

"Certainly." Erwin nods, then laughs politely. Doing so his eyes stare at me so intensely that the speed of my heartbead progressively accelerates. He clears his throat and adresses me once more. "Apart from that - you and Faustus in fact did look quite alike, if I may say so." He raises his brows in a patronizing manner. "Coincidence?"

"Faustus' appearence was the general director's decision, not mine", I reply and stare at him with a blank face. The way he stands so close to me makes me feel uncomfortable. His presence reawakens the nervousness I believed to be gone for tonight. I feel hot and start to sweat. Instinctively I reach for my cravat and readjust it.

"That's why you came to me, Erwin Smith?", I ask without looking at him. "To ask me that?" Erwin shakes his head.

"No", he says and the sound of his voice makes me shiver. It sounds so different from when he is on the stage. Softer, without the artifical way of modulating every word, like it is usually done by actors during their performances. Once more Erwin points at the book. "But I have a few questions on the character of Mephistopheles I would like to ask you", he says and the smile on his lips reveals flawless, white teeth. "Provided you want to waste your time with an untalented actor like me."

When he says these words his eyes inhere a challenging expression that I do not miss. I take a deep breath and raise my hand, before I point in the direction in which Hange has disappeared only minutes prior.

"I'm waiting for my friend", I begin. "She's been gone for quite a while, so she will probably-" I bog down. Wordlessly I reply the other's gaze, whose eyes are downright piercing me, so intensively he stares at me. Then I let my hands sink. A silent signal lets the resistance I fought to this point crumble in an instant. What do I have to lose?, I keep asking myself.

And after all - he came to me.

There were times when Hange used to say that there are people that are found by others, they do not find. Probably, and I cannot help myself from thinking that, this is one of these moments. Erwin Smith has found me, after I did not dare to approach him during all these years. I click my tongue.

"Fine, Erwin Smith", I say, "hurry up and ask your questions."

"No." He gently shakes his head, before he stows away the small book in the inner pocket of his uniform jacket. "Not here."  
I raise my brows and examine his face, secretly searching for something that tells me what he is up to. But his face is all blank. A mask of gentleness. I cannot say what he is thinking.

"Where do you want to go?", I ask in the end and let my arms sink. The other raises his hand and points in the air behind him.

"Not far away from here there is a stair that leads to the roof", he says and smiles in a most self-confident manner, when my expression finally relaxes. "We wouldn't be interrupted there. Apart from that - and I hope you will forgive me my frankness - I am longing for some fresh air. I've been trapped in this theater for the whole day."  
One last time I gaze down the hallway. Hange is still nowhere to be seen. I step away from the railing and shift my hands into my pockets.

"As you wish", I say and step a little closer, while I try to deceive him with a blank face over the fact that a wave of excitement is about to wash me away. "Let's go. That view will

better make up for the circumstances."

The man next to me bursts out laughing and it sounds very sincere.

"Be unconcerned", he says and smirks, "from up there you have the nicest view over the whole of Petrograd."

 

  
I follow the man who is so well known to me yet absolutely unfamiliar at the same time, wordlessly, my eyes staring at the ground while we walk. Everything has happened so fast that I still do not realise what is about to happen. And with every step my heart beats faster, my hands feel sweatier and my throat drier. My companion leads the way and even though I cannot see his face, I guess that expression face shows the stoic calmness that can also be seen during his performances. After we went on like this in silence for a couple of minutes - the hallways became more and more plain and simple, until I could be certain that we had reached parts of the building that were not supposed to be accessed by theatergoers - we stop in front of a simple wooden door. It is not locked. Erwin opens it and steps outside. I follow.

  
Like expected we are all alone. I step outside and a cold breeze tousles my hair in an instant. I try to avoid any further damage by placing my hand on my head and stop while I have a look around. It is a flat roof of unimaginable size, framed by stone railings to every side. At the opposite end I discover the bronze rider statue that thrones over the main entrance. From down there it appears manageable in size but up here I finally realize the impressive dimensions of this piece.

  
"Levi?", Erwin's voice sounds behind me in the distance and brings me back to reality. He has already reached the middle of the roof, but has turned around to me after he had noticed that I was not following him anymore. I mutter an apology and join up with rapid movements. Not far away from the bronze statue we stop. My hands still buried in my pockets, I lean against the railing and lower my gaze. I don't know what to say.

"So", I say silently and have a look over the city. The view truly is remarkable, but nervous as I am I find myself unable to appreciate it as much as I would usually do. "Here we are. Ask me."

  
We exchange a volatile gaze, but Erwin does not answer. Thoughtfully he eyes the blue book in his hands, his brows furrowed, just as if he had realised only now what he actually wanted to talk to me about. When he finally raises his voice it has taken an almost melancholy sound.

"It is not like I was always allowed to play the lead", he says suddenly and gives me a shy smile. "You knew that?"

"More or less", I answer without looking at him. "You joined the ensemble two years ago when you moved here from Moskow, if I remember correctly."  
The man next to me nods gently.

"Indeed", he answers. "I was an insignificiant, unknown actor of English origin. They offered me secondary roles and I was quite happy about that. Every actor is glad when he is allowed to perform on the stage, no matter in which role. As an author you sure know how uncertain the life of an artist can be."

"Yes."

"I would have never dared to complain. I had found a way to make myself a living, so I did not care if I performed in the first or last row. Of course I hoped that they would allow me to play a lead one day, but you have to work your way up, it's just as simple as that."

"Nothing can be created out of nothing", I mutter and Erwin gives an agreeing sound next to me. I am not sure what he is up to, and due to this, my nervousness increases.  
"A few months after I started to work in Petrograd the rehearsals for a new piece named The Private Anatoli started, a piece written by nobody else but you. I liked the subtle, political undertone that would easily be missed if one did not look very close. Furthermore I could not get rid of the impression that Anatoli and I equaled each other in every possible way. There were so many things about him I could relate to and obviously I wasn't the only one thinking like that. They offered me the lead and I did my best meet the requirements."

"You met the requirements. More than that", I join him and try to give back my voice its usual strength. "It was due to your remarkable performance that this play became such a success."

"Not at all", Erwin shakes his head without looking at me. "It was a good play, so good that I was concerned to ruin it with my performance." He smiles at me and suddenly I feel hot and cold at once. "Fortunately that wasn't the case. When we started to prepare the next drama of yours a few months after that the whole esemble was surprised to see that the lead role once more only seemed to fit to my person. Most didn't think anything of it, but for me it had some sort of strange taste. And when we finally began with the rehearsal for The Fall of Mephistopheles, my suspicion changed to silent certainty that there must be someone who takes care of me. I knew it could only be a frequent visitor of this theater, since the stage directions and writings even took small characteristics of mine into account that could not be known by someone who is not going in and out of here on a regular base. The audience usually thinks that we don't notice them at all but that's just plain wrong. Once you start working here you soon know who's a regular costumer and who's not. From time to time I stroll around the foyer before our performances and I can usually see the same faces over and over again." The smile on his lips increases, while with every of his words I turn pale as a ghost. Did I act in such an obvious manner? Slowly I realise that what he really wants to talk about is actually much more than questions about his role. My fingers clench around the railing while I desperately try not to let any of my emotions show on the outside. Erwin silently clears his throat before he proceeds. "You used to visit all of your premieres - of course. I could also see you whenever there was a drama that included me. On the other days your seat usually remained empty. It was easy to notice, since the loge you're usually using is easily accessible. Deep inside I became suspicious that you might be the author of these plays that helped me to gain fame and influence, but since you have never been officially introduced to me as Levi Ackerman, there was nothing I could do but to speculate in silence. Only after they handed these books to us and I discovered your portrait inside everything finally made sense, like a puzzle that had been missing the last piece." He raises his head and eyes me carefully, showing a gentle smile. "I don't know what caused you to take care of me, but I owe you my deepest gratitude. Without you I would hardly be where I am now. Most likely I would still perform small secondary roles in the background." He laughs and it sounds warm, almost tender. "Of course this only applies if I am not mistaken with my suggestions. If I have offended you I am very sorry. Please forget what I have just told you then."

  
Unable to reply anything I stare at him, my lips slightly opened, with wide eyes, pale and with a heavily beating heart. My hands, still resting on the railing, slowly clench into fists. I have never felt so caught in my entire life like in this very moment. Uncertain what I should reply I bite my bottom lip. Certainly he can see in my face that he is on the right track. I do not want to lie to him. And of what use would it be to deny what was actually the truth?

"You are not mistaken", I whisper. "Quite the contrary. It has occurred just as you assumed it."

I lower my head and stare at the ground. A strange prickling in my cheeks forms the proof of the fact that I am blushing in the darkness. Silently I hope that Erwin will not notice this. When I eventually look over to him and our eyes meet, there is no judgement in his gaze. Like a child, brim-full with curiosity, he carefully watches me.  
"Why?", he asks in the end and his voice sounds so soft that it makes me shiver. "Why me?"

"Because you are a gifted actor, Erwin", I manage to say and unvoluntarily lean back until I touch the railing. I feel cornered but the way Erwin looks at me causes me to keep on talking against my will. "It was your way of performing that inspired me to write these plays", I continue with a cracky voice. "I am not an extroverted person, you need to know. I prefer it to remain in the background. It probably would have been easier to make you an insignificiant compliment, but it seems like that's just not my style."

"I see."

We both nod, then fall silent. Erwin begins to skim through the pages, scanning them with his eyes, stopping here and there to have a closer look at the one or another part. Slowly I calm down. Even though he has caught me - the way he deals with all of this, the way he treats me, provides me the feeling that everything is fine. As if all of this was nothing more but the neccessary outcome of my actions.

"You know", he suddenly begins without looking up from the book. "I think this piece here is different from the other plays you wrote."

I furrow my brows. A few strands of hair shift into my face which I silently tuck behind my ear.

"How?", I hear myself asking.

"You usually have a very short and quite factual style of writing. Very modern, not as overwritten as the authors of the past decades used to write like. You quickly get to the heart of something and your protagonists as well tend to stay well clear of their feelings. I think this style represents the zeitgeist well and I consider it very appealing. But The Fall of Mephistopheles is different. Faustus and Mephistopheles are different. I don't want to say that they act driven by their emotions, since it doesn't appear adequate for me in this context, but I don't know how else should I express this feeling."

"They are connected by their pact. They act in a goal-orientated manner", I say and Erwin nods heavily.

"Yes, that might be. Yet still - Mephistopheles is too critical with Faustus. He treats him rough and coldly but in the end he turns against his own authorities in order to save Faustus from hell, knowing that he was destined to fail." Once more he skims through the pages, but with more passion than before. "I don't understand that. I can't see what's happening in Mephistopheles' mind. What causes him to act in such a self-destructive way, if he knows that it won't be of any use for anybody? He knows that his way of acting means his own as well as Faustus doom."

"Yes. And still he cannot act otherwise."

"Why?" Erwin speaks with a determination that makes my heart beat faster.  He leaves his place at the railling and steps even closer. His eyes are resting at me driven by a sheer thirst of knowledge. They sparkle as if they were made of crystal. "Would you tell me? I ask you."

He is standing so close to me that I need to move away from him to keep a comfortable distance. Silently I lean against the railing. My hands close around the cold stone. I have lowered my head so much that strands of hair keep shifting in my face while I search for the right words.

"Ignorance", I say in the end.

"Ignorance?", asks Erwin and cannot hide the surprise in his voice.

"Yes", I whisper. "Ignorance against himself and his feelings for Faustus."

Without saying a word Erwin listens to what I have to say, then, just as if he finally understands, his expression changes.

"What kind of feelings do you mean?", he asks breathlessly, causing me to smile despite myself.

"Even God himself once loved the morning star, didn't he?", I whisper, my head still lowered. "To notice that Faustus somehow caused such strong feelings of sympathy or even love in him, knowing that this was their bet amount - for someone who has never known something like this, who has never felt those kind of feelings it must be a frightening experience." I hesitate and my fingers nervously slide over the railing. "I think it is something than can definitely leave you in despair. He is the devil. He is part of the power that would always wish evil and always works the good. And what is not supposed to be shall not be. That's what many people think and even the devil himself is not immune when it comes to that."

  
I speak with a low, toneless voice, think about my ideas while I pronounce the words, thoughts I have never told anyone else before yet they just flow as if they had waited for this moment all these years. I can't tell why. "His self-denial sounds the bell for Mephistopheles' damnation. When he finally commits his true feelings, when he lives through his catharsis and dares to raise his hands he is already too late to prevent the imminent danger. Mephistopheles resists and pays for this with his excistence. But it does not change a thing. Faustus' soul still belongs to Lucifer - but instead of accompanied by Mephistopheles Faustus has to live through eternity all alone."

With these words I finish my explanations and fall silent. Waiting for Erwin's reaction, I look at the roof's ground. I notice the wind that, from time to time, caresses my face and makes me shiver. Finally I raise my head and look up into the sky. I can see some cumulus scattered over the horizon, the moon covers everything with its blueish light. Here and there I can discover some lonely stars at the firmament.

  
"Such a sad story", Erwin whispers next to me. I look over to him. He has followed my example and watches the night sky. His blonde hair shimmers silky in the pale moon light. When he notices my gaze he replies it and smiles gently. "But I think I might understand it better now", he says. "Thank you very much."

Once more the warm prickling appears on my cheeks. And even though my heart starts beating wildly once more I cannot take my eyes off of him. Before I realise what I am doing I bend in the other's direction, who I have secretly been admiring from afar for the past months, losen my left hand from the railing and reach out for him. I behave in a strange way. I know that. And so I hesitate before I can do something stupid even though I am longing to let my fingers slide over his uniform jacket. His hair. His skin. Now, where we face each other like this, I am struggling to keep my countenance. And with every second I look at him like this, my breath accelerates. This man has bewitched my body and soul. I can't help myself. I can't act otherwise. I clench jaw in order not to let any of this show on my face. Silently Erwin first looks at me, then my hand, then back at me. He is still watching me with the eyes of a child, filled with fascination for his new toy. When I can't stand it any longer I turn away. My remaining hand slips from the railing.

"It's cold out here", I somehow manage it to say, "let's go back inside, Erwin."

"Please wait."

Erwin's voice sounds with so much determination behind me that my stomach turns into a knot. Against my will I stop. Slowly I turn around.

"Yes?", I mutter. Erwin is still leaning against the railing. One hand is resting on his thigh, the other one is resting to his side. "There is still one last question I would like to ask you", he says and gives me an apologising smile. "If it's not too much of a bother."

I watch him for a moment, then shift my hands back into my pockets. Slowly I start to freeze. I shiver and the thin little hairs on my underarms straighten up.

"Go ahead. Ask." My voice sounds cool. Erwin points on the place next to him, just where I stood seconds before, and even though I hesitate in the beginning, I follow his invitation and return. He waits until I stop next to him. I search for his gaze and raise my brows in a challenging manner. "So?"  
The corners of Erwin's mouth twitch slightly. He supports himself with his left hand on the railing and bends down to me, so close that I can smell his after shave. Musk. Patchouli. A heavy, characteristic scent.

"When Mephistopheles and Faustus sealed their pact", he begins and sounds more and more conspirational. "Tell me, why did the lights go off?"

Even though the night is freezing cold my heart feels light and warm. Silently I reply his look and am fascinated to an extend that I almost forget to answer.

"Sometimes you can create a stronger effect when you leave the happenings to the audience's imagination", I mumble in the end and fold my arms in front of my chest.

"What did they do?", Erwin does not give up. I raise my brows and look at him. His eyes penetrate me.

"What do you think?", I ask and my voice equals a toneless whisper. Erwin, who has bend down, now stands so close to me that I can feel the warmth of his body through his uniform jacket. After seconds of silence he starts to smirk.

"You said Mephistopheles is in love with Faustus?", he wispers.

"Yes."

"I see."

Searchingly he examines my face, so slowly and intensively that it takes my breath. I do not miss the mischievious sparkling that appears in his eyes.

"Well", he whispers, "I think they did the following."

He leans down and gently presses his lips against mine. A volatile kiss, tenderly, without pushing me into a corner. Shy, as if he feared to break what he was admiring. Soft, like a breeze that caresses the meadows. When he lets me go I can not help myself but to stare at him with wide eyes and slightly opened lips.

"Do you agree with me?", he whispers.

"Probably", I speak under breath. We look at each other and it is hard to believe that this just really has happened. It feels strangely surreal. Like a dream. As if someone has suddenly stopped the flow of time.

"Erwin", I sigh and interrupt myself, not knowing how to finish this sentence in a useful way. I let my arms sink and once more reach out for him, until my fingertips finally slide over the golden buttons of his uniform. Gently and quite restrained, scared that I might scare him away like this. Once more I open my mouth when I am interrupted by the sound of an opening door.

"Ljowuschka!", somebody shouts and I do not need to turn around to know that the speaker is Hange. I sigh. Only a few more seconds, that was all I was secretly longing for. In the end I turn around. My friend stands on the other side of the roof, waving at us with her notebook, before she comes over and joins us. "Here are you, for heaven's sake", she swears when she finally stops in front of me. She sounds blaming. "I have been looking for you everywhere. Your spouse as well, by the by."

"Did she stop pouting?"

"She will start again if you don't return to her soon."

She notices Erwin and lets her gaze wander back and forth between us. When she finally realises that the leading actor of tonight's play is standing in front of her, she turns pale.

"Hange, this is Erwin Smith. Erwin Smith, this is my friend Hange Zoe, journalist", I mutter hastily and warn her with a glare to pull herself together. She somehow manages it to calm herself down. Erwin, though, gives her a friendly nod. They adress a few polite words to each other, but I barely listen.

"How did you find me anyhow?", I eventually ask her and cause her to burst out laughing. She raises her hand and heavily declines.

"A few employees saw you two disappearing here", she smirks. "Leaving me like this when I was just going to pick up my notebook."

"It took you long enough", I answer surly. "Was it where you suspected it to be?"

"No, no." She laughs once more. "It seems like I handed it to Mike, since he was carrying it around when I finally found him again." As if butter would not melt in her mouth she shrugs and places her hands on her hips. "However - I shall tell you from your wife that the nanny can only stay until midnight. She wants you to come to the foyer so you can return home."

"Tell her I come right away", I reply with unhidden displeasure and press my lips to a thin line. I had hoped the evening would not end in such an aprubt way after it took such joyful turns and twists. Hange gives me a volatile nod and turns to Erwin.

"If it's not too much of a bother", she addresses him and her voice sounds shrill with excitement. "I am writing for Petrograd's papers and would be honoured if you could offer me some of your spare time for a short intervie-"

"Hange", I growl and make her hush in an instant. Erwin though replies her look full of friendliness.

"Certainly", he answeres and causes Hange a delight sigh. "Contact the theater during next week, so we can set up a date."

"I'd be glad to!", she cries out and her eyes begin to sparkle. "I'd truly be glad to! Oh, thank you very much, Sir!"

"Don't mention it."

"Hange", I join the conversation and adress her in a way that clearly shows my opinion over her sudden interruption. "How about you go to Mikasa and tell her that I'll come as soon as I bid my farewell to Erwin."

She moans.

"Fine, Ljowuschka", she mutters and turns to go. "Just tell me when my presence bothers you. Have a good night, Erwin Smith."

"Thank you very much", he smiles. "And goodbye."

One last time Hange raises her hand, then turns around and has soon disappeared back inside the theater. When the door closes behind her, I cannot refrain from sighing.

"That woman", I whisper irritatedly. Erwin gives me an amused look.

"She appeared to be a quite sincere person."

"I didn't deny that."

We both laugh silently.

"You have children?", Erwin eventually asks, the smile still written all over his face. I nod.

"Yes", I say, "a daughter of three years."

"How lovely." It sounds honest. "It must be nice to watch young life grow."

"Indeed."

We exchange a long look and while we gaze at each other the prickling returns onto my cheeks and lips, as if I could still feel him kissing me.

"Well", I say and step away from the railing. "I should go. I hope I could answer your questions to your satisfaction."

"You could", Erwin smiles at me but does not move at all. He will let me return alone and remain here. Still nervous I let my fingers run through my hair.

"Good night, Erwin Smith", I say and leave. I have barely passed the rooftop halfway when suddenly Erwin's voice sounds behind me again.

"One last thing, Levi Ackerman!", he shouts and makes me stop once more. I turn around to him.

"Yes?", I ask into the darkness.

"Why don't you come a little earlier next time - if you don't mind." He indicates a smile, as bright as the sun. "I will show you around a little."

I reply his gaze, my brows furrowed. Suddenly, I smile despite myself and nod.

"I would love to", I say tenderly. One, two seconds I look at him like this, then turn to go. This way, bouyant and with a heavily beating heart, I leave the rooftop of Petrograd's Alexandrinski Theater, sensing that this was one of those nights that, once you looked back one day, would possibly ring in a new chapter of my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

~*~

[Mikasa's dress](http://67.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lb1gfpm8271qa95lvo1_500.jpg)

[Mikasa's coat by Paul Poiret](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1a/b6/6a/1ab66a92b829eccd5da52eecfd89fcba.jpg)

[Levi's outfit](http://40.media.tumblr.com/ed828a1b2abcbfca2e0f70a4eb405c42/tumblr_naarmcBKzK1tnwftbo1_500.jpg)

[Hange's dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/ba/78/f6/ba78f6cbf86d27cd7dcb61f692398e39.jpg)

[Erwin's uniform](https://www.sutlers.co.uk/acatalog/rb2003a.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading - as usual, I hope you liked what you just read. I don't really know what to say. I'm right now sitting in my little room in Yokohama, Japan and my stay here is approaching its end. This story here was something I really wanted to write for quite a while, so I felt free to pause both the German and English version of SmdS for this. Furthermore, there will be another short OneShot published before we can actually proceed with SmdS, but I will do my best in order not to let you wait for too long. 
> 
> I actually want to publish this OneShot with a couple of other shorter stories in the end of the year as a paperback, but I don't really know if anybody would be interested in actually purchasing a copy. So if you are sitting in front of your computer now, thinking: YEAH I WOULD LOVE TO! - please let me know. I want to make sure the copies would be not more than 10€, and of course, it's all at cost price, so I wouldn't make any profit with it. 
> 
> I deleted some of my social media, but you can still find me as usual on Twitter and Instagram (both as HerrKirschbaum). 
> 
> Oh, one thing - according to my research, 'Ljowuschka' is the official nickname version of the Russian Name 'Lev'. I also read it is common to call each other by the full name if you are not very familiar with each other yet. Both in German and in Russian there are different ways of addressing each other, according to how polite or casual you want to interact. There is no such thing in English, so those details got in fact lost in translation. I'm not familiar with the Russian language and the details of Russian history (even though I want to change that as soon as possible), so if you found any mistakes, please kindly let me know so I can change that. 
> 
> As usual the list of stuff I really liked about this chapter:  
> 1\. All the Goethe/Marlowe/Faustus/Mephistopheles-referrences.  
> 2\. The fact that Erwin has probably spent 2 years of thinking who Levi Ackerman was, until he finally found it out (probably with his typical CreepwinSmile).  
> 3\. All the fancy clothing.  
> 4\. The fact that this is actually a Faustus-Fanfiction hidden inside an Eruri-Fanfiction (like a matryoshka)  
> 5\. I really need to travel to St. Petersburg one day, the pictures and the architecture are just too lovely.  
> 6\. Erwin frankly approaching Levi after he didn't manage it for almost two years as soon as he found out who 'Levi Ackerman' was
> 
> Anyway, I see you as soon as possible. Let me tell you, I still appreciate the fact that there are plenty of people on Ao3 who won't refrain from posting comments and push the Like-button. That still means a lot to me. 
> 
> LOVE LOVE LOVE,  
> HerrKirschbaum


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